The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1887-06-10


and he was careful not to let even the breath
OF suspicion rest upon him. An anecdote
OF his usual manner of allowing the i'm
pulses or noble nature to overcome the
strict lines of his ecclesiastical dignity may
not be out of place here. Just after the war
an officer of the Northern army was quar-
tered upon family living in an Alabama
town; 1t happened that all the male
members of the family had either been
killed in the war or else had not returned
from captivity; and such was tho case with
the whole town, for there was none but old
men In it. The officer took advantage of
tne de1enseleSs women to grossly insult the
young lady of the house. The news of the
outrage quickly reached Father Ryan's
ears. de at once proceeded to the house and
sent up word to the officer that some one
had called upon him. Father Ryan had
provided himself with revolver and a
horse-whip. When the guilty man entered
the parlor he found himself confronted by
the muzzle of the weapon, and ordered to
fall upon his knees.
Now" said Father Ryan, 81 am going
TO give you good cowhiding. If you at
tempt to make any resistance or to run l
VIII scatter your brains upon this floor"
With that he began and gave the man a
hearty whipping
Now, sir, say that you are sorry for
what you have attempted. Then leave this
town within twenty-four hours. If you do
not, you know what will be the conse-
quences." The man obeyed his instructions
to the letter. This anecdote exhibits one of
his chief characteristics chivalrous re-
gard for women, whose wrongs he was
always ready to avenge.
Most Southern people and a good many
Northerners are well acquainted with
Father Ryan's more famous poems from the
constant reprint of them in the papers. His
Conquered Banner Sentinel Songs, -
"De Profundis,n "Erin's Flag" and others
are too well known to demand any republi-
cation here. But there are several other
short poems and scraps, little known, that
to my mind surpass his more famous pro-
auctions select three because they fur
nish three separate examples of his thought
and methods. What could be more tender
and martial than thiss
IN MEMORY OF MY BROTHER
Young as the youngest who donned the Gray,
True to the truest that wore it.
Brave as the bravest he marched away
GHot tears on the. cheeks of his mother lay,
triumphant waved our flag one day
He fell in the front before it.
Firm as the ffrmest where duty led,
He hurried without falter?
Bold as the boldest he fought and bled,
And the day was won-but the field was red
And the blood of his fresh young heart was shed
Ou LIS QallOW0Q alUdr.
On the trampled breast of the battle plain
Where the foremost ranks had wrestled
on his pale pure face not a mark of pain,
CHis mother dreams they will meet again,
The fairest form amid all the slain
Like child in sleep he nestled.
In the solemn shades of the woods that swept
The field where his'comrades found him
They buried him there-aud the big tears crept
Into strong mems eyes that had seldom wept
mOther-(YO0 r'-SD1ilad nd
Dreaming her arms were around HIM.
A grave in the woods with the grass o'ergrown,
A grave in the heart of his mother
His clay in the one lies lifeless and lone;
There is not name, there is not stone
And only the voice of the wind maketh moan
Ger the grave where neer flower is strewn,
But-his memory lives in the other
There is another gem, a sad thought put
into melodious words
THE ROSARY OF MY TEARS.
Some reckon their age by years,
Some measure their life by art:
But some tell their days by the flow of their
tears,
And their lives by the means of the heart,
The dials of earth may show
The length not the depth Of years,
Few or many they come, few or many they go,
But time is best measured by tears
All! notify the silver gray
Il
And not by the scenes that we pass on our way,
And not by the burrows the fingers of care
On forehead and face have made
Not so do wescount our years:
Not by the sumo the earth, but the shade
OF our souls, and the fall of our tears.
In ''Their Story Running Thus" Father
Ryan gives us a hint of his own early life
Here is passage;
"a youthful Christi she said
Who had he lived in those far days of Christ,
Would have been His beloved disciple, sure,
Would have been His own gentle John: and
Have leaned on Thursday night, upon His
breast,
And stood, on Friday eve, beneath His cross
To take His mother from Him when He died.
He sent me here-he said the word last night
In my own garden-ths the word he said:
Obi had you heard him whisper: Ethel, dear!
Your heart was born with veil of virgin on
/ hear it rustic every time we meet.
In all your words and smiles;-and when you
weep
/ hear it rustic more. Go-wear your veil
And outwardly be what inwardly thou art,
And hast been from the first, And, Ethel list;
NY heart was born with priestly vestments on
And at Dream-Altars l have ofttimes stood,
And said such sweet Dream Masses in my sleep
And when lifted up white Dream Host,
A silver Dream-Bell rang-and angels knelt,
Or seemed to kneel, in worship. Ethel, say
Thou wouldst not take the vestments from my
heart
Nor more than would tear the veil from thine
My vested and thy yelled heart part tonight
To climb our Calvary and to meet in God
And this, fair Ethel, is Gethsemane-
And He is here, who in that other, bled-
And they are here who came to comfort Him
His angels and our own; and His great prayer,
Ethel, is ours to-night-let's say it, then;
Father! Thy will be donel Go, find your veil,
And my vestments' He did send me here
Father Ryan was no ordinary poet, much
less mere rhymeSter. Many of his pro-
auctions are destined to live when most of
those which now rank so high shall have
faded away There is a music, fire in his
singing equal in many places to the piercing
sweetness of Shelley, whom he greatly re-
sembles in the character of his inspiration.
FLYING FOXES.